


Puppy Eyes

by DenverLake



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s06e21 Help Me, Everybody lies, Fix-it fic, Flashbacks, Gun Violence, Implied abuse, M/M, No age gap, Other, Polyamory, Post-Infarction (House M.D.), Self-Indulgent, Trans Male Character, blythe. milf, cuddy and house are siblings, ect - Freeform, house and wilson are 24 and 26 respectively, house is not homophobic, house is not transphobic, possible coma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:53:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29661345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DenverLake/pseuds/DenverLake
Summary: karma is a bitch, he thinks. he's laying on the ground.he's exhausted, headache pounding.dust settles around him.he wonders if anyone is looking for him.
Relationships: Greg House/James Wilson, Greg House/James Wilson/Original Male Character(s), Greg House/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 1





	Puppy Eyes

His steps are firm on the ground, struggling not to inhale the dust around him. It was brushing around the room in the cold air, with a groan from the ceiling every now and then. He didn't have a lab coat like other doctors; he thought it got in the way for this instance. Managing a coat is a nuisance to get through small spaces, even with how flexible the man was. Even trying his best, he couldn't help but inhale the concrete dust, coughing. He stopped, taking a look around. He didn't see much, ducking under a concrete beam. it was risky; but that was the nature of his life. He took many risks throughout his life, even romantically. He was a new doctor. 

He stepped over debris on the ground, tripping over something with a loud thud, and pain shooting through his left ankle. _Ah, fuck._ His foot's stuck again, though possibly worse than last time. It doesn't look too great, but he pushes on. He can figure that issue out later... if he can even get out. He looks around, trying to figure out where he came from. _Fuck._ "Fuck. Fuck! Fuck," He swears often, usually reserved toward games and the occasional lovers' spat, but this time it's strictly toward himself and the situation he's gotten himself into. _Fucking idiot._ He sighs, trying to climb over bits of debris. He shifts his weight back and forth on the unsteady beam, making his way toward the entrance. The beam groans under the weight he puts on it in addition to the debris, and he involuntarily closes his eyes, stumbling forward as it groans again. He starts going faster, which is a horrible mistake.

He falls, seeing the exit in front of him a little too late as his head hits the ground first. His nose begins to bleed, and he feels a throbbing pain in the back of his head, sitting up and looking around. He knows _something_ is wrong, but his head is too foggy to figure out what he's missing. He stands up cautiously. At least, he thinks he does, but his leg is stuck under a piece of rubble. Adrenalin courses through his brain. He knows he should feel pain from that, but he doesn't, and maybe that's for the best. He's so, so tired.

* * *

The hospital administrator walked into the tented area, looking around. She didn't wear heels this time, aiming for speed. She walked up to one of her doctors. "Wilson."

"Cuddy."

"How many doctors are here? We've gotten everyone out that's been reported as present working at the factory."

"E- Everyone should be out here. The only person we're missing is.. is.. uh.." The oncologist hesitated, looking at the list of people who have registered they're out of the building. Cuddy looked over the list, only skimming it. She looked around for a moment, pausing.   
"Where is Evans?"  
".. _Shit,_ " The oncologist swore, making a mad dash toward the building, nearly crashing into a certain crippled man. "Sorry!" He didn't bother to see who it was, feet hitting the ground at an increased speed. He ran into the doorway, breathing heavily. And so, he saw it. Evans on the ground, bleeding from his nose, barely awake. And.. _crushed._

The younger man looked up, quietly considering making a dash for it. But just as soon as he noticed the man in front of him, consciousness faded from his mind. His head hit the ground again.   
  


The oncologist freezes, trying to collect his thoughts. Why hadn't Evans called for him? It doesn't matter right now, even as his thoughts raced. He heaves one arm over his shoulder; it isn't very hard. Evans was a thin, lanky man. He wasn't much shorter than Wilson, sure, but he was quite light comparatively to even House. He opts to get Evans on both shoulders. He could get out quicker that way, and it wouldn't injure the disturbed ankle too much. Not as much as dragging would, anyhow. 

It takes a while, but he manages to get Evans out of the crumbling building, stumbling into one of the tents. He doesn't know how much blood the younger man lost through various injuries, or even what kind of injuries he sustained. A limping gait and a cane stomping against the ground signaled who finally came over, looking over Evans. Evans blinked awake, trying to clear his eyes. Black spots flashed in and out of his vision, pushing himself up with a groan. The burning pain shot through his rib. He bit his lip quietly, staring Wilson down. "..Hey."

"So what the fuck were you thinking, you idiot?" House forced Evans' gaze toward him, resulting in a confused tilt of the head from the younger doctor. "I didn't- I didn't _die._ So.. anyway. What's up?" Evans smiles blankly.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Evans stiffened at the question, shifting his hands. He squinted at House, doing his best to recognize how many fingers, despite the blurry spots in his vision. "...Two..?"  
"..Close enough, two and a half."  
"That's not- that's not fair!"  
"When was I ever claiming to BE fair?"  
Evans rolled his eyes, hitting House's shoulder lightly. "I'm fine," He shrugs it off, making an attempt to stand up. The oncologist blocks his way. "We have to check you over, Jordan." 

"I'm a doctor too!" Jordan protests, moving one of his arms around, drawing it in quickly when pain shoots for it. "I know I'm okay,"

"And I'm the Queen of England, what's your name?" House's snarkiness never gets old, no matter how many times he's heard it. Jordan involuntarily snorts, causing another ripple of pain. "Jordan Charlie Evans." He says with the same tone as House uses when he's overly confident.

"Birthdate. In its entirety." House challenges the man in front of him with a smirk. Jordan is determined to prove him wrong and wipe that smirk off of his face. It's 2001... so.. "December 19th, 1978. I am twenty-two years old as of right now." The smirk falls, and rises back up. Jordan raises a brow.

"How long have you worked at Princeton Plainsboro?" House pulls out a flashlight, shining it in one eye. "..Uh." He hesitates. "Open your eyes all the way, Evens." Jordan nearly snorts at the nickname, and would have if he wasn't so confused. "I- I am?" He's glad to avoid the question, admittedly. "House, we should call an ambulance, he's still bleeding-" House says something that Jordan can't hear through the water like sound quality he is hearing.

* * *

The next time he wakes up, the first thing he notices is a dull pinprick in his arm, and two people sitting near the bed. Even that is barely registered in his mind, sitting up. It hurts a lot more now that adrenaline isn't running through his veins. "Fuck, fuck!" He swears, rattling a curse in the languages he's learned either passively or from House. The burning pain in his ribs hurts like a bitch. He looks around at the people next to him. "Heyyy.." He's drugged, but not enough to fog his mind again.

"You retained what I taught you, clever." House snorts, spinning his cane around. "You're gonna be like me! Your ankle's fucked, what did you do to it? Dropped a box on it?" He freezes when he sees the dejected look in the puppy dog eyes of Evans. "Hey- hey, shit- I'm poking fun at you, alright?" Jordan glares at him. Oh, if looks could kill. House clears his throat, looking at Wilson to fix the damage.

Wilson swallows, trying to school his expression into an awkward smile. He can't think of anything to say, pressing a soft kiss to Jordan's forehead. "You're okay. He didn't- he didn't mean it." He smiles softly, sitting on the bed. Jordan yanks House's cane toward him, grinning like a bastard. He gives his signature dark blue puppy eyes, a contrast to the piercing ice blue of House's. House smiles, but quickly drops it off of his face.

* * *

_**DISCHARGE** _

House picks up the smaller man by the back of the shirt, resulting in a confused laugh from the lighter-haired boy. "You're coming to my office, take an extra cane."  
"Ha. Funny."  
"I'm being serious this time. You have a fucked up ankle, take it."  
Jordan takes it reluctantly, ignoring the pain searing through the ankle when he hops off the bed and walks after House idly.

"The ducklings are waiting," House remarks toward his partner, who was lagging behind. Jordan quickly increased his pace, attempting the longest strides he could. He barely managed to keep pace with the older doctor, breathing matching with the shoes- shoes? When did he put those on? Did somebody else?

House tapped on his shoulder, snapping him out of his mess of thoughts. "We're here, cripple two." Jordan rolled his eyes, chuckling softly. "Alright, cripple one." He'll play along. Annoyance is his best strategy against House; Wilson's weakness is the puppy dog eyes Jordan easily brings up when he wants something. It's never failed yet, despite Wilson promising himself every time it won't work this time.

Cameron looks up at the two doctors, looking rejected when she notices how close the younger is to the older man. "I can walk just fine, you need a cane." The back and forth banter resembles that of a married couple, but.. there's no way. As far as Cameron was ever aware, House was straight. After all, he had gone on a date with her, hadn't he?

..But there's an undeniable bond between the two, and Foreman notices it before Chase does, whose absorbed in the newspaper at hand. "..You two married or something?" Jordan jolts, stopping the banter almost immediately. "What? No! It's- we- I-" Jordan stumbles over his words, wracking his brain to beg it to make a proper sentence.

"Legalities get in the way sometimes," House snorts, throwing a case file onto the table. "Differential. Evans, grab the marker. Everybody else, go." Jordan quickly grabs a case file, listing the symptoms on the board in slightly lopsided writing.

He quietly listens to the differential, spinning the marker in his hand. He starts chewing on the end, thinking hard. "Hey, fucked up puppy, don't chew on that. You'll get some form of poisoning." Jordan snorts, looking at House with his 'is that a challenge' look. There are so many things he could reply with, but none of them are for this time or place, especially not with House's team in the room. He's been looking at the board for a while. "Lupus." The symptoms match his own experiences with the autoimmune disease, but Foreman protests. "It doesn't fit."  
"It fits just fine for me. I _have_ lupus, take my word for it."

Foreman quiets down, standing up. "Aht aht aht, I didn't say you could leave yet. Chase, Cameron, test for whatever your useless theories were. Foreman.. go do clinic duty for me." Foreman groans at House's words, but he goes to the way of the elevator. Chase and Cameron leave, but not without giving House and Evans a questioning look.

As soon as they're out of earshot and sight, Jordan steals one of their chairs, raising his feet to the table. "Your Vicodin's up there, by the way." He smirks, pointing at the top shelf with the chewed-up sharpie.

House looks at him oddly. "..How did you get up there?"  
"I didn't."  
"Then who..?"  
"Wilson." He grins, and then looks at the door. "Gimme a kiss." The younger doctor crosses his arms, reclining further. He schools his face into the puppy face he's learned he can use to get what he wants. House sighs, not a fan of any sort of public affection, reluctantly gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, before straightening up as the team walks back in.  
"He was right."  
"Figured."

Evans is about as cocky as House, which catches Foreman off-guard, because he didn't know anyone could match that level of snarkiness or cockiness. Foreman notices the look of self-doubt, but chooses not to acknowledge it to his fellow doctors.

He clears his throat. "Immunosuppressants." House yells a sarcastic congratulations, struggling to get the Vicodin pills. At some point, he got Evans to climb up, revealing a promise ring on the left ring finger of the older doctor. Evans just manages to reach the pill bottle, catching it in one hand. He attempts to get down off of the chair safely, but ends up smashing his head into the table. "Puta Madre-" He swears, standing up. Chase blinks, before Evans goes out to the balcony door. He shoots a glare at Cameron. Someone's jealous... Evans quickly makes his way to the balcony door. He knows he's not supposed to do this. Wilson told him explicitly not to. Jordan paces on the balcony, pressing more weight into the hurt ankle until it stings and brings him back to awareness, repeating the cycle until Wilson opens the door with a patient and _shrieks_. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Smith, I'll see you tomorrow." Jordan shakes his head quickly, zoning back in.

_"Papa?" The small child wandered into his father's room, having heard the_ _two_ _adults arguing from across the house. "Momma?"_

He coughs awkwardly, waving. "Hey!" He quickly moves past Wilson as efficiently as he can, but his ankle gives out under him. Wilson dashes forward to catch him, hooking his arms in the crook of the resident's arms. Jordan looks up at him, fidgeting nervously. There's always a rush in his heart whenever Wilson picks him up like this, whenever _either_ of them do, even though they've been living together for almost a year now. He feels like he just met them in medical school all over again, eyes shining upwards. It's not graceful by any means, they still move like teenagers whenever either pick the other up, but that's just what they do. It meshes well, even if Jordan doesn't have quite the same personality. "So, Jimmy-" Jordan begins, snorting as he sees Wilson's expression change into one of exasperation. They were roommates in college, meaning he was unfortunately used to this behavior from Evans. "Sooo, what'cha doin'?" He says, as if he didn't just interrupt Wilson's talk with a patient. Wilson sighs, exasperated. "Well, I _was_ talking to a student, but then I found you on the balcony." Wilson shakes his head, standing up and stretching. The cat-like Evans reflexively jolts backwards, before standing up himself. "You still got that stupid radio player?" He's picked up House's snarkiness. He grins, giggling. Wilson pinches the bridge of his nose momentarily, before smirking. He grabs the record player, putting an old song on. Elvis, from what Jordan can decipher. It's the same song from fucking _prom_ all those years ago. "You still fucking have that shitty record?!" Jordan exclaims. He would never admit that he actually loves the song, especially with the memories that come with it. "How did you even.. how did you even get it?" He tilts his head curiously at the oncologist, who just grins. "Asshole," The younger oncologist sighs, tapping his foot rhythmically. Even before, he _knew_ this song was the one he wanted to dance to at prom, the one song that he cherished, maybe because his parents listened to it before his siblings came along. Maybe it was just something to do with the fact his sister and himself would play it when their parents weren't home. He didn't particularly know, and didn't care to find out. The oncologist took one hand in his own, starting to dance inside of the small office. Truly, much neater than the first time.

* * *

_**SEVERAL YEARS AGO** _

_He clumsily danced with the tall light-brown haired man in front of him, having stepped on his feet several times already. He didn't seem to mind from what Jordan could see on the indecipherable face of the man in front of him. He didn't know what drew the two together, throwing each other into the atmospheres of their social circle, but the song played in the background. He tripped over Wilson's foot, stepping on his own. "Ow, ow!" He mutters, glaring at his own feet as if they were something he could intimidate. They weren't sentient, and he **knew** that, but there was just SOMETHING he couldn't resist glaring at. He giggled as Wilson tried to dip him, nearly dropping him. He fell on top of the smaller man, laughing. "We should just ditch," He says to Wilson, one hand drawing back the hair covering his face. "I didn't know you had freckles," Wilson forgets to reply to the question, staring at the smaller man, wonder in his eyes. "Oh- heh-" He doesn't know what to say, clumsily standing up. "C'mon, I- I have a ca- car outside I think?" His speech is fumbling over itself, as the music fades away in the background. He gets shotgun, despite it being his car. Wilson climbs into the other seat, placing his right hand on top of the smaller man's hand, driving to a local diner. Jordan flops down onto one of the seats, stretching his arm up and back behind his head. "Do you think we'll ever miss this? This kinda time? Where we got to be carefree and shit?" He asks idly, looking at Wilson. He can't help but tilt his head. Those puppy eyes have always gotten the best of Wilson, even in the times where Jordan **wasn't** trying to get something from House or himself. _

* * *

Evans took over clinic duty. Did he have a reason why? No, absolutely not. But hey, it gave him something to do considering he wasn't allowed near Radiology, especially not after the error with his ankle days prior. He sighed, wondering how anyone dealt with this day in and day out. It was.. horribly boring, though maybe that was because House was taking most patients. Evans sighed, smacking his forehead against his hand. He should be free for lunch soon, hopefully. He just has to survive a few more hours in this hell until he can get out and get a ride home. Domestic life was more of his style, which he didn't realize until he had took the job. Everything hurt so much by the end of the day, leaning on a wall and waiting for Wilson. House had already left early, against Cuddy's orders. Evans couldn't care less but _god_ , was this what House felt on a higher level? Evans had a high pain tolerance, and even the ankle was hell. Maybe it was because he did go against orders, or maybe not. He didn't feel like playing _that_ guessing game anytime soon. And even if he did, he knew he'd get the choice in the matter. Wilson and House weren't like Stacy in mannerisms or medical proxy. It was a comforting thought, and he relied on that to make sure nothing would happen.

He refused to lose use of his leg, much like the stubbornness House held toward his own leg so long ago.


End file.
